I try not to feel guilty about what we are doing here. I tell myself it’s the right thing to do but it gets harder and harder everyday.
From the observation deck I watch small trucks load the ship. The spaceship, taller than any building I’ve ever seen, looks giant from where I stand. A caterpillar transporter the size of a building rolls into view. It stops a hundred yards from the ship. A door opens on its side and a wave of people exits. 3,500 colonists in bright blue overalls walk towards the ship. I wave at them. I wonder if they are even looking back to where we stand.
I should be 100 years old by the time the crew arrives to their destination. That’s of course, if I’m still alive.
Few people know what is really happening and what we are doing here. They know the war has destroyed Earth, but they don’t know how badly. Even if the war ends tomorrow our fate is sealed. The soil has been poisoned and the air polluted beyond repair. It would be a miracle if the radioactivity alone doesn’t kill most of us in a few months.
Perhaps one day the truth about our operation will come out. If we survive we will tell everybody about the plan. About how we thought that putting people on rockets and sending them off to space was our only chance to perpetuate the human race. If we don’t survive, it will be the secret we take with us to our graves.
I watch the ship take off. I wish I could leave with them but my place is here. I wonder if the colonists feel guilty for abandoning us. I try not to think about it, but it gets harder and harder everyday.
August 10, 2017